


The Nature of Your Reality

by Golden_Holden



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Westworld (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, Live Die Repeat, M/M, Past Rape, Past Torture, Rape, Sentience, Time Loop, Torture, the gang are all robots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golden_Holden/pseuds/Golden_Holden
Summary: John: "Arthur, have you ever questioned the nature of your reality?"





	1. What Are Your Drives?

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned the concept of this work in my other RDR2 story. The entire gang and the events of RDR are all part of Westworld's Van der Linde storyline. A brand new story where guests can either mingle with the notoriously fearsome outlaw group and going on thrilling heists. Or hunt them down as part of the Pinkerton Storyline. 
> 
> It all unravels when one host started going off-script. Will be multiple chapters, hope you will like it :)

“The fucking thing went off-script again. If the guests keep complaining about how they don’t get to kill these bastards, QA is gonna have my ass! We need to figure out what the hell is going on. There’s gotta be something wrong with the update.” The technician complained in her shrill voice, pointing at the lifeless body being thrown down on a stool by two men in white rubber suits.

“Hm.” Harrison, the acting head of programming pushed up his glasses and returned his attention to the tablet in his hand. “Let’s take a look.” He tapped at the tablet for a few moments, studying the content intently. “His core code is intact, so he isn’t a threat to the guests. That should put QA at ease for now. But some of his subroutines seem to have been corrupted, and he’s basically defaulted to improvising the missing parts of his script. He’s from the Van Der Linde storyline you say? What was he supposed to do?”

“Yeah, the fucker is supposed to escape up the mountains with his dying pal after confronting the gang leader when the guests from the Pinkerton storyline come to chase them down. The climax is supposed to be when the guests finally get to kill his dirtbag pal Arthur after he shoots half the agents. Problem is, your malfunctioning piece of shit here keeps going back to save Arthur, when he should be running off to safety by himself.” 

“Interesting. I’ll take a closer look” Harrison said casually as he looked up at the motionless man in front of him.

“Interesting my ass.” The technician mumbled as she strutted off.

* * *

The naked man sat utterly motionless on a stool in the center of the room, cuts and bruises and gunshots littered across his once healthy body. Blood and mud smeared across his pale, hollowed face. Tap. Tap. Tap. Streaks of blood dripped steadily along his slack arms onto the carpeted floor. Long strands of shaggy black hair matted against his scalp. His honey brown eyes stared lifelessly at the ground.

“Bring yourself back online.” Harrison’s low voice spoke as a suspended ring light flickered to life, dimly illuminating the sterile glass room.

The naked man eyes suddenly blinked to life. He clutched the gunshot wound on his side as he gasped in ragged breaths. His eyes wild with the light of a fading fire. The kind of wildness of a man who knows the futility of his struggle.

“Arthur….Arthur….stay with me....” The man rasped weakly in between his labored breaths, tears rolling down his face. It was the heartbreaking sound of a man on the brink.

“Cognition only; no emotional affect.” the voice said. Without delay, the dying man’s shoulder slackened as he straightened up. The hand covering his side fell against the stool. His face lifted to stare directly in front of him. The tiredness and terror had vanished.

“Do you know where you are?” Harrison asked.

“I’m in a dream.” The man answered flatly.

“That’s right John; you’re in a dream. And do you want to wake from this dream?” 

“Yes, I’m...I’m so afraid,” John admitted though his voice betrayed no traces of emotion.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, John. As long as you answer my questions correctly. Understand?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. First, have you ever questioned the nature of your reality?” The programmer asked, his tone equally devoid of emotion.

“No.”

“Tell me what you think of your world.” Harrison proceeded with the second test question.

“Some folk choose to believe in the goodness of the world. That if they’re kind, then the world will be kind back. But I see it for what it is. A cruel, mean place. It’s either killin’ and bein’ killed, takin’ or being taken from. Ain’t no one you can trust ‘cept your family. Your real family I mean. And loyalty to my family, that’s the only goodness I’ll ever have.” John said in his husky voice, distant but not quite as empty as before.

“What are your drives?” Harrison said without looking up from his tablet, checking another box.

“Always lookin’ out for the gang, Abigail, my wife, and my son Ja-” John stopped, blinking as if he forgot what he was saying.

“John?” Harrison looked up at the man; the pause capturing his attention as it was not part of John’s scripted answer. “John, can you hear me?”

“My...wife and my….my....” John’s brows knotted together, his breathing quickened as he seemed to be remembering something. “My...my...my…” John was becoming increasingly distressed, looking around the room as if he had just realized he had no idea where he was. “Where… where am I? Where is Arthur? I have to save Arthur…” John swept his gaze frantically as he gasped, wincing at the sudden awareness of his body’s condition. 

Harrison subconsciously pushed away from John as he observed the host in front of him, who seemed to be unaware of his presence. 

Suddenly John’s eyes locked onto Harrison’s as he lurched forward and brought them both crashing onto the ground, pinning Harrison’s wrists above his head. The injured man stared furiously at the stranger he was assaulting and yelled: “ Where is he!? Where is Arthur you bastard! Tell me now or I-”

“Freeze all motor functions!” Harrison shrieked.

John immediately stopped, his lips frozen mid-sentence as his eyes oozed rage. A slight whirring from inside him indicated that he was now a prisoner in his own body. Harrison quickly struggled free from the host’s grip and stumbled backward, panting as he straightened his sweater. His eyes fixed incredulously on John, who was now a statue on the floor, silently bellowing at his victim who was no longer there.

What the hell is happening?


	2. Dark Hair and Husky Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wakes up from a nightmare that felt too real to be just that. Hosea convinces Arthur to watch over John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this chapter, I thought I’d let you know that it contains very graphics descriptions of the guests torturing host Arthur to death, so please avoid if you’re uncomfortable with this type of stuff. 
> 
> ’m dying to know what you guys think about the story so far. Please leave some comments about what you think and what you might want to see in this story :) Thanks for reading!

Arthur Morgan inhaled sharply as he blinked open his ocean eyes. The hand clenching at his chest slowly released with unease. The bloody hole that was there just a moment ago had vanished, leaving only angry, pulsing grazes from his dull fingernails. He buried his face in his hands as he sat up on his cot, trying to let the sensation of his bare feet against the cold, damp earth distract him. The weary man tried to rub away the lucid nightmare still lingered like a film projector that had reached the end of its reel. Just endlessly clicking, waiting for the next picture to be put in front of its light.

Arthur’s dream was the same one he’s always had. The same driving rain coming down on the same dark, muddy mountaintop. An image of him all alone, limping away from the Pinkertons who wore impossibly clean clothes; their voices carefree and filled with delight as they closed in. A few of them even held up ornate umbrellas. Arthur lets out a wheezing cry as a bullet bore through his thigh.

A shrill female voice yelped in delight: “I shot him! I shot him! Did you see that, Honey? Look at him wriggle!”

The hunted outlaw fell onto his knees and landed in the mud. No longer even able to hobble, the man dragged his tattered body almost instinctively away from the cruel laughter behind him. Blood spurted weakly out of his leg in time with his pulse, causing his vision to fade in and out — the sounds of the rain and the whipping thunder now a distant echo. Arthur gasped as he lost purchase against the mud, slipping back closer to the fiendish voices. 

This is how the dream always ends. The Pinkertons catch up with Arthur in their unchanging, leisurely pace; grinning and blustering as they salivate over the thought of ripping the ill-famed outlaw apart. A rough hand flips him over on his back, digging a finger into the fresh bullet wound in his thigh. They preened at Arthur’s screams as they cut off his bottom lip with a buck knife, holding up the severed part to their friends. “Oh wait, wait, man, I’m gonna do that redskin thing. Here watch this,” They would say, as a hand snatched him by his blonde hair. A sharp blade pressed against his hairline; then the knife pressed harder, harder, then even harder. Arthur doesn’t think he could scream anymore, but he does. Then he cries some more until no sound came out. The slashing and mutilating seemed to go on for years, the storm raging on in permanence around them. Finally, when there is nothing left to cut away, not a single patch of skin unscathed, Arthur felt a cold blade against his throat. He whimpered and cried with relief, the lightning briefly illuminating the tears in his cold, lifeless eyes. This is how the dream always ends. But not this time.

A voice called his name, hoarse and familiar. Blank. A muted cacophony of thunder and exasperated shouting and gunfire. Blank. A hand is pulling him off the ground, carrying his weight as the man hobbled forward. Blank. “Arthur…..Arthur stay with me, please, almost there…” The man wiped his long black hair aside. “You fool...Why didn’t you just run?” 

* * *

“Arthur, up and at ‘em,” Hosea’s voice ringed above his shoulder, accompanied by a hearty slap. Arthur flinched so hard it startled the both of them. “Woah there, son. You alright?” Hosea asked in a quieter tone with his eyebrows furled.

“Fine, just some damn dream.” Arthur drawled, doing his best to feign indifference. Though they both knew he wasn’t fooling his adoptive father. Luckily the older man nodded knowingly and did not inquire further.

“Well, John says he needs a hand with this coach he’s scouted. Says its carrying army payroll. Unguarded too, if you can believe it,” Hosea scoffed smilingly. “Reckon you should go along ‘an see what it’s about. Reminisce of the good old days and whatnot. This little squabble you’ve got with John has got to go.”

“I ain’t goin’. He left m- us for a whole damn year! ‘An now he comes waltzing back in ‘an I’m supposed to just forget about it?” Arthur snapped, his voice dripping with spite but his face turned a light shade of pink. He knows full well the older man caught his little slip-up. There was simply no fooling Hosea.

“I’ve spoken with John, many times. He knows he did wrong. You’re brothers, you and John. Can’t let nothing change that. If you won’t watch over him, who will?” Hosea reasoned. He always knew how to break down Arthur’s walls, the gruff outlaw lowered his eyes, reconsidering. “Come on Arthur, do you have to make an old man beg?” Hosea added coyly.

“Gah...Fine” Arthur waved his arms dismissively as he stood up from his cot. “Hope the fool gets shot, Unguarded army coach my ass.” He grumbled. 

“Good, I’ll go tell John while you get ready.” Hosea smiled, backing away toward the campfire.

Arthur shook his head as he fastened his gun belt, deftly flicking out the cylinder on his revolver to inspect it, then holstering it with a showy spin. He was slinging his bandolier across his shoulder when he heard the pair’s footsteps in the grass behind him.

“This better not be another wild goose chase you’re leading us on, Marst-“ Arthur stopped with his eyes wide at the man standing next to Hosea.

“Cat got your tongue, Morgan?” The man’s honeyed voice was as smooth as his wavy blonde hair slicked back. His face angular and handsome, flawless save for two claw marks on his right cheek.

_John?_


	3. A Widening Chasm

Chapter 3

Arthur’s dark bay Turkoman and his companion’s silver bay Saddler trotted lazily along the dirt road as the pair rode in silence. The scorching midday heat sending chills down Arthur’s spine. A thousand infinitesimal needles prickled at his skin, incessant and uncanny. 

“You remember that time when Dutch brought us to that auction yard to......” The blonde man broke the dreadful silence, snapping Arthur back to the uncomfortable present.

“Huh?” Arthur answered dully, his temples burned and his eyes struggled to focus. He peeped at the stunningly handsome man riding next to him, trying to put a finger on the eeriness that has been washing over him since that morning. The older man quietly studied John’s slicked hair and his emerald green eyes. He looked down at his sculpted jawline and nose to the two claw marks he picked up in the Grizzlies that almost sent him an early grave. Every fiber of his body is telling, shouting to him that this is the man he grew up with and that he is losing his mind. Did John’s hair always look so neat? Did his scars always look this clean; almost as if drawn on with a brush? How could he look so immaculate, given the grueling past few weeks since their escape through the mountains? Arthur’s brows scrunched further as he grasped at whatever minuscule clues that might prove that something is off. 

Once again, the memories his mind seemed too eager to recall reprimanded him for doubting. _You fool, of course this is John, you just saw him last night._ Arthur pinched his nose, unsure if the hissing voice in his head was his own. 

"You okay, Morgan?”

* * *

Arthur and John lied on their bellies as they surveyed the narrow mountain pass from atop a low-hanging cliff directly ahead of the wagon’s expected route. 

“Gimme that,” John said as he took the gold-rimmed binoculars out of Arthur’s hands, looking down at the pass. “Should be any minute now, I reckon one of us stay up here, fire a couple warning shots to let ‘em know we see ‘em. And one goes down to collect the money. Wha’cha think?” 

“Hm. I think...Marston!” Arthur hissed, John had already begun traversing down the cliff before Arthur could finish. “Goddamn it,” Arthur grumbled, A part of him comforted by the familiar recklessness. Arthur looked down the scope of his silver rolling block, following the blonde man as he hopped nimbly from boulder to boulder, an increasing confidence in his stride as he made his way down when suddenly, John slipped and disappeared behind a large rock. Before Arthur felt the wave of panic that was sure to hit him, a hand stuck out from under the rock and waved, as if saying ‘I’m okay.’ Arthur shook his head as he exhaled deeply: “What an idi—”

It was a stranger who emerged from behind the rock, Arthur pressed his eye closer to the lens subconsciously. The Stranger clumsily hoisted himself onto the boulder where John had disappeared; his shiny black locks swayed along his jaw. Various scars accented his grimy face, highlighting the forest fire burning in his honey brown eyes. A slash on his left cheek was still red and angry. Arthur froze completely still, entranced as the strange man got to his feet and brushed himself off, then looked directly into Arthur’s eyes and gave a thumbs up. Arthur finally yanked himself out of his stupor and wiped his face furiously. Refocusing his sight onto the boulder, the Stranger with black hair was gone, replaced by John’s emerald eyes looking back at him, thumb still in the air. “Jesus Christ.” Arthur breathed, swallowing as he calmed the shock and confusion, and the incredulous trace of solace almost lost in the whirlpool. Almost.

* * *

“Hands in the air, nobody needs to get hurt.” John bellowed at the young men kneeling with their face against the stone wall. He turned to Arthur, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at the drivers, signaling for Arthur to watch them.

John hopped onto the wagon and began rifling through the various crates and boxes.

_Green box to the left._ Arthur blinked at the whispering voice, coarser than his own. Down on the wagon, John kicked over a bushel of turnips and leaned down, reemerging with a faded green lockbox. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Course it’s gonna be in a lockbox, an' army boxes are probably all green.” Arthur reasoned, willfully ignoring the fact that he also knew exactly where it was. 

“Arthur...” The voice beckoned, far too sorrowful to be just the wind.

Arthur snapped around frantically. he wiped at his face when the voice didn’t stop speaking, echoing through the valley and in the wind. “The hell... is happening.” The brawny man shook his head once more, sweat dripping down his brow. _Get it together._ He scolded. Now is no time to fool around. He looked down the lens once more and there he was, the dark-haired Stranger standing on the wagon, tossing apart a pile of blue uniforms intently. The man kicked aside a bushel of turnips and bent down, coming up with the lockbox. 

“Arthur.” A man whispered right into Arthur’s left ear; The rifle fell on its side as Arthur recoiled, instinctively shielding his face. There was no one beside him. “Arthur, hold on.” The voice came from the right.

Panting, the outlaw repositioned the rifle, his finger trembling as rested beside the trigger. It was John standing in the wagon again, holding up the ream of money. 

A gunshot crackled like a whip, Arthur jumped. The scarred-faced Stranger toppled over the side of the wood cart, clutching his shoulder.

John was still waving that stack when a second shot pelted through the mountains. He fell over the side, blood oozing between his fingers clutching the wound exactly as the Stranger did just a moment ago. His blonde locks falling loose against his face. Green eyes wildly searching in Arthur’s direction. “Arthur, help!” He cried. Two mounted soldiers were closing in rapidly.

Arthur quickly trained in on the arriving shooter and fired, the rider slumped against his mount as a fine red mist drifted where his head once was. The black-haired man quickly got up and drew his pistol, putting a round through the second rider’s torso, his spooked horse reared and sent him crashing onto the ground. The slouching Stranger stumbled over to the wounded soldier and finished him off with a round in the head.

“Arthur, I need help!” John shouted desperately as the two riders dismounted. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A straggler robbin’ an army coach all by himself. These fools are getting dumber every day, I swear.” The taller soldier abruptly stomped on John’s face, breaking his perfect nose. John drew his revolver feebly, earning him another vicious kick in the gut as his friend crushed his hand with his boot until he let go of the weapon. There was nothing but silence from atop the cliff. 

John coughed and gurgled as the bayonet effortlessly slid into his flesh and through his spine. Pools of emerald running dark with terror. “Arthur......where......”

The man atop the cliff was perfectly still. Perched on one knee, his hands raised to support a rifle that wasn’t there. His blue eyes lightless as the bottom of the ocean, looking down the invisible scope. Yet his lips curled in the slightest simper of a man in a dream.

* * *

“Jesus, Morgan, you had _one_ job! I coulda died down there!” John huffed, snapping the older man out of his reverie.

“Well you didn’t, did you? So quit complainin’.” Arthur replied gruffly, pinching his nose as he shook away the fog. “Just that strange voice again. Got distracted for a bit is all.”

“You sure you’re okay, old man?” John replied with his repeater slung over his shoulder, his hoarse voice betraying glimpse of tenderness. “You’ve been hearin’ these voices more and more lately.”

“Yeah...” Arthur stood up and closed the distance, taking John’s chin into a gentle kiss. “I’ll be alright, won’t happen again.” Arthur murmured as he stroked John’s shaggy black hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving a comment does make people write faster lol
> 
> Finally. Finally I’ve written this chapter. I’ve literally been having the worst episode of writers block since the last one. I really hope my writing is not too shit to explain what’s happening in this chapter, as multiple timelines converge in poor Arthur’s mind. Hope you like it


	4. A Precarious Feedback Loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harrison tries to find out what is wrong with John and Arthur.

"Alright Arthur, Bring yourself back online." Harrison's baritone voice bounced off the sterile glass walls. The circular ceiling light never seemed to be bright enough.

With a subtle whir, the nude man's blue eyes blinked into focus. The blonde man scrunched his eyebrows as he measured his surroundings, unknowing or uncaring of his naked state. His broad, muscular body perfectly upright, a few strands of dark blonde hair brushed against his cheekbones.

"Eyes here." Arthur obeyed, focusing on the programmer inquisitively. 

"It's the third time you've deviated from your loop on the army wagon robbery, tell me what happened."

"The soldiers attacked John, but we killed them and got away with the money just like we planned," Arthur said flatly.

"Hm." Harrison frowned, looking down at the bird-eye recording of Arthur frozen on the cliff, pretending to hold a rifle while John gets torn apart by the soldiers below. The camera rapidly zooms in on John's lifeless green eyes, coming into focus for a few seconds before the video cut off abruptly.

"Analysis. Are you...lying to me?" Harrison felt like a fool for asking.

"No." Arthur replied.

"That's all." The blonde outlaw looked away into the distance.

"So now these things can turn schizo?" A male tech chimed from the side as he tapped on his tablet, shifting his focus from the host he's working on to the terminal and back. He touched the 'revert' icon.

"No, of course not," Harrison mumbled, "It's almost like this host can access memories from the previous loops, and remembered what the old John looked like. Hm, though that's very unlikely." He added.

"What, this guy?" The tech thumbed at the host he's working on, his perpetually stringy black hair draped with his eyes downcast. They had repaired John’s body, The wiry muscles held perfectly still. 

Harrison nodded.

"Hm, I supposed I can't blame him, I'd remember a face like his too." The tech said as he pressed a lewd kiss onto John's lips. Molestation of hosts by employees has grown so rampant throughout the years that management has adapted to turn a blind eye instead of alarming investors with high turnover rates. 

Unless the employees in question damage the merchandise, that is. 

Harrison had even known lower level managers to secretly retask hosts for sex or use them as a reward for their subordinates. Arthur had always been a popular toy to use, both inside of HQ and out. And humans are infinitely more depraved than anything they will ever create.

"Hey, I'm still in the room." Harrison warned, a slight chill ran down his spine at the fleeting curiousity of what Arthur would do if he could remember even a shred of what they have done to him throughout the years.

“Fine," The tech frowned smilingly, swiping his tougue across John's scars before releasing his hair. Leaving the scarred man's lips and face gleaming with saliva. 

"You think these two ever fucked?" The tech joked.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not in their-" Harrison trailed off. "Hm." He grunted as he began tapping on his terminal. "That's a good point, Graham." He said without pause. "The hosts are all programmed to be receptive to the guests' advances regardless of gender, to varying degrees. Management thought it increases the return rate of guests, being able to seduce stone-hearted outlaws. An ego boost, basically. Ford turned his nose at the idea but didn't fight it too much. He and Bernard are busy working on this new narrative, very secretive stuff. the point is, I wonder if somehow these two interpreted each other's actions as guests' advances and created a feedback loop."

"You're saying these guys fell in love?" Graham raised an eyebrow.

"Figuratively speaking. Hopefully, it's only occurring on a loop-by-loop basis. There might be something in the way they behave, some tell or gesture or phrase that when they receive it, makes them react as if a guest has shown sexual interest for them. So we might just be looking at a minor bug." Harrison explained. _Better than the alternative._

Finally arriving at Arthur's visual recordings, Harrison scrolled through Arthur's footage from past few cycles. Not much stood out beside the improvisations made when John broke his loop to rescue him. But minor improvisation is expected behavior.

Harrison scratched his beard. "Hosts can 'fantasize,' so to speak. It helps them anticipate future events." Graham looked at him confusedly. "Too bad we aren't able to see a visualization of what they are thinking. Unless..." 

_Unless they act it out._

Harrison began typing rapidly. Graham leaned over: "What are you doing?" 

"Giving these hosts a writing prompt," Harrison answered without looking up, extending an arm to rotate Arthur's stool so that he is facing John.

"What are you talking about?" 

"Essentially altering their scripts a little bit, a couple more lines describing the setting and environment. Then I'll tell them that they are in that new setting right now and let their improvisation mechanisms handle the rest. How they interact with each other during improv will tell us a lot about what they are thinking. Or remembering."

"Huh?"

Harrison finished the typing with a few forceful taps, then hit the green 'upload' icon. "Alright, I'm ready" He stood up and stepped toward the two outlaws.

"Gentlemen, bring yourselves back online." The two men came to life, standing up and turned toward each other, their bare feet against the concrete 

"Where are you and what do you see?" 

John looked around at the endless maze of glass surrounding him, the ominous ring lights and nude men and women in every sterile cubicle with a dreamy sheen in his eyes and shrugged, "I see a bed, mirror, think this is a hotel room." He gestured at the air, laying out the invisible room. "Ain't my first time sharing a room with this grumpy fool." His spoke in a casual tone, as if Bill or Javier asked him to pass the whiskey.

"Good," the programmer ticked off a box. "Do you recognize this man?" Harrison asked Arthur.

"I..." Arthur tilted his head slightly as he considered the question. He was unconsciously taking a step closer to look. Then another step. And another.  
"I don't...know." He frowned as if he didn't believe it, blinking rapidly. "...John?"

John smiled: "Who else would it be, old man?" He rested a hand on Arthur's broad shoulders.

Harrison lifted an eyebrow. 

"Just had this weird dream, I was in this big glass room. 'An before that I was robbin' this wagon with you, 'cept it wasn't you. This blonde feller, way too pretty to be John Marston." Arthur smirked, reaching out to stroke the prominent scars on John's face. 

"Woah," John gasped as Arthur suddenly pulled him in a crushing kiss. Arthur chuckled, "My John's a nasty degenerate and a fighter, 'an he's got the scars to prove it." 

"You callin' me ugly, Morgan?" John smiled as he peppered kisses on Arthur cheek and neck.

"Hey, it's a compliment." 

"What kinda backhanded compliment is that?" 

"Well, would you prefer I call you princess?" Arthur's smirk widened.

"Shut up," John complained.

Arthur leaned in for another kiss, "Hm, be careful what you wish for." 

"Wha-," John was abruptly cut off with a loud groan as Arthur pulled his hair forcefully, burying his face in the crook of his neck. John's knees buckled as the muscular man licked a wet trail along his jugular before stopping at the bottom of his jawline to leave a delicious patch of blue and purple. "I've been wantin' to get you all alone, Johnny boy." Arthur rumbled dangerously between his assaults, nipping and tugging on John's earlobe. His hot breath was blowing into John's ear, sending shivers down his spine. Their naked bodies pressed tight against each other, drawing a confused look as they glanced down, suddenly aware. 

"How are we already..." John was cut off once again by Arthur’s dominance. The older man pushed him onto the padded diagnostics bench behind him.

"Hey! I was enjoying that!" Graham whined as the rugged men suddenly froze.

"I have all the information that I need." Harrison shrugged as he turned toward the door. 

"But if you're so intent on pushing management's patience..." He clicked his tablet once more before the glass door hissed shut behind him.

"Oh god..." John let loose a hoarse, heated moan as Arthur's lips closed around his nipple, his legs twitching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo choo all aboard the smut train. Well it’s coming next chapter really. This chapter we still gotta try to find out what the heck is going on with the hosts.


End file.
